Three Steps Down from Fail
by Redentor
Summary: Redentor Publications has been challenged, and we respond in kind. Prepare for fail and chaos in ways that only our team can offer. Behold, the story of a criminal in way over his head!
1. Definition

Chapter One: Definition,

Location: Detroit,

Date: 28th December 2012.

Detroit

Population: 713,000.

The United States of America's twelfth largest city and my home for almost my entire life. Question: Why? To make you understand my choice of location, why I never left to see the world like so many other saps, I have to give you a simple definition.

Chop Shop: In motor vehicle theft, a chop shop is a location or business which disassembles stolen automobiles for the purpose of selling them as parts.

It may surprise all of you people who have been living in your comfortable self obsessed world that almost 800,000 cars are stolen every year in America, and that only 12.4 percent of those cars are found, in pieces or otherwise. Where do these cars go you ask next? They go to your local Chop Shop, to be cut up into parts and sold separately, or have their VIN (Vehicle Identification Numbers) erased and be sold on to a convenient buyer.

What sort of despicable creature could work in a place like that, participating in illegal activities that feed of the honest work of good people? Well, that's where I come in. Brian Sullivan, twenty-four years old, officially unemployed, collecting my unemployment benefits every few weeks while working on the side.

I get almost two hundred dollars in untaxed, unfettered cash every two days for chopping up cars that me and my buddies steal. We are the shit when it comes to nicking valuables that don't belong to us. As Boss always said, if that statistic was true, out of the 800,000 cars that are stolen in this great country every year, our chop shop processes almost five percent.

I'm an asshole, but it pays well, and at the end of the day that's all that matters in this city. I have a string of girlfriends and casual partners aging from around thirty all the way down to the barely legal. Does this faze me? Not in the slightest; I'm smart enough to know that rules don't matter, as long as you don't get caught breaking them.

How to avoid getting caught is the million dollar question. It's simpler than you might think, and that makes being one of the few people in this city who gets away with crime in a big way so satisfying. It's all about targeting, placement and strategy. Who is your target? What do they weigh, what age are they, are they married?

All of these things contribute to the picture, that you can then arrange your pieces around. If their fat, then their probably slow on their feet. Snatch and grab, making off with their keys; sounds easy right?

It's an evil and insensitive life, buts its one that I'm well used to by now. It helps that I rack in almost 36500 green ones every year. That just below the annual earning of an entire household and it's all mine!

I should have known it wouldn't last. Nothing that good ever does in my experience. I wish I could say that the occurrences taught me the errors of my ways, and that I emerged enlightened and free from the clutches of criminal enterprises. What am I saying? I don't wish that at all, in fact I wish that I'd been sent straight to hell.

At least there conniving dickheads and kleptomaniacs were in better supply. I could have made some friends, met some people of a like mind. No, I had to get sent to the bloody Inheritance Cycle for a chance to get back to my well ordered, comfortable criminal lifestyle.

The day started like any other, cold and generally blurry. I rolled out of bed in a daze, almost tripping on several beer bottles that rolled around on the floor, making it sound like an orchestra of triangles was playing in the background. Wincing in pain, I stumbled into the bathroom and ran an untold amount of freezing cold water over my head. It really wasn't necessary when I come to think about it, the air in Detroit during the winter would have cured anyone's hangover.

After ten seconds my ears had started turning a very pronounced shade of blue, and I felt mildly better. I extricated my head and towelled off my ginger hair slowly. What did I do last night? Multicoloured lights were in my mind, probably the nightclub downtown. A lot of beer and overpriced vodka if I was any judge; handling drink was a must for someone who lived like I did. It wasn't often that I had trouble remembering the night before.

Girls dancing was the clearest image in my mind...I grinned. Walking silently towards the door of the bathroom and cracked open the door. Sure enough, I could make out a noticeable lump under the covers, bingo. Approaching the bed I grabbed my trousers from the floor and pulled them on. If I remembered correctly I'd stopped by the corner shop on my way into the club.

My grin widened as my fingers found the cigarette packet and Zippo lighter. The Zippo was a present from my dad, silver with a stylised deaths head on the front. The words "Life is a waste of time, time is a waste of life, get wasted all the time and you'll have the time of your life" stood loud and proud on the back. What can I say; he was a big fan of Billy Connelly.

I lit one up and inhaled deeply, savouring the rush of nicotine into my system. Plonking myself down onto the bed I brushed my untidy red hair from my eyes, "Morning sunshine!"

The lump groaned into the nearest convenient pillow, but made no indication of emerging. "So who is it this time," I mused out load, "Shirley? No you're too tall to be Shirley." I thought for another few seconds. The Den downtown hosted a large amount of different girls, most of them regulars. I'd had most of the good ones strut the halls of my apartment more than once.

"Miranda?" I asked the lump, and then raised an eyebrow. Suddenly inspiration struck. I reached out and cupped the two smaller lumps through the covers. I withdrew them quickly as another grunt issued through the fabric, "No, not big enough to be Miranda."

Then I spotted a lock of raven hair poking out between the mattress and the revelation struck with the force of a freight train, "Grace?"

A giggle this time, promising. "Do my eyes deceive me," I yelled in quite genuine delight, "Is the wonderful Gracie Hill here, in my bed?"

"Don't shout it like that," Grace said as she finally emerged from under the covers. Five-seven with beautiful raven hair and a slim figure, Gracie Hill was and always had been high up on my list of most desirable women. Forget Jolie or Fox, Hill was my idea of the perfect woman. Funny, hot, wild but not slutty; she was the human version of cocaine.

"Well, well, well," I smiled lightly, drinking in the sight and painting a mental picture, "You got bored and decided to give me a chance."

She returned the smile and sat up, giving me a perfect view of her back, "You were very persistent. I don't think I would have been able to talk if I was that drunk, much less chat up a girl." I cocked my head to one side, still smiling, "I've always been persistent, what changed this time?"

She leant back and stretched, "You read me poetry."

For a second my mind went in loops trying to make sense of what my ears had heard. "I did what?"

"You quoted me lines from Romeo and Juliet," she bounced off the bed, holding the bed sheets around herself in the classic beauty-in-bed technique. "I swear you're much more charming than you ever were sober."

She flashed me a cheeky smile, and I caught the inflections in her voice. I growled and threw the closest pillow at her. "Don't do that, you had me worried for a second there. What actually happened?"

"There was a guy hitting on me in the club, you took care of him for me."

"And that worked for you?" I asked incredulously. Gracie flicked her shoulder length raven hair and gave me another dazzling smile, "You were very imposing."

By this time she had pulled on her underclothes and jeans. She was having trouble doing up her bra however, and my natural playfulness took over. Clamping the cigarette between my lips I slid across the bed and sat behind her like we were astride a motorbike. "Here, let me help you with that."

She giggled again, and let me do up her bra as she leant down and retrieved her T-Shirt. "You're a gentleman too? Surprising." I chuckled and kissed her neck, smelling the scent of her hair and memorising it. "Trust me," I muttered past the cigarette, "I'm far from a gentleman."

Grace sighed and plucked the half smoked cancer stick from between my lips, "These things are bad, you know that right?" I shrugged and pulled her backwards so she was lying on my chest. "Yeah, I know. You want one?"

Eying the proffered cigarette, she took it and accepted a light from my Zippo. "So, I suppose you'll be going to your precious job that you're always going on about, and I'll be going home." My eyebrow raised itself again. Was that actual bitterness in her voice? Yes it was; she wanted to stay?

Usually women couldn't wait to leave, and I didn't expect Gracie to be an exception. In fact my mental scenario put her half way to Mexico before I even woke up. She was looking up at me inquisitively, no doubt waiting for a response.

"Grace, you're probably only the third woman ever to hear these words come out of my mouth but...would you like to go out on another date?" Gracie stared at me for a few seconds, and then burst out laughing, "Another? This was hardly a date."

She got up, and instead of walking out the door, she turned around and straddled me. "But yes," she said, resting her forehead against mine, "I would love another date." Her lips met mine and I stroked her hair, releasing more of that maddening aroma. "Grace," I whispered, making her lean back and look into my eyes. "Yes?"

"I actually do have to go to work today." Gracie pushed me down onto the bed and rolled to the side, "I knew it, fucking asshole."

I jumped up as she grabbed her jacket and bag from the table in the kitchen, "Gracie!"

I followed her into the kitchen and down the hallway towards the door, "That's not what I meant god damn it!"

**Start Song: Half the World Away by Oasis**

"I know exactly what you meant asshole," she shot back as she reach for the door handle. I short forward and grabbed her around the waist. "No you don't," I said calmly as she struggled. "Would you just listen for a second Grace?"

She thrashed about for another few seconds then gave up, "What?"

I turned her around and hugged her close. Running on instinct most of the time had its benefits. You never thought about what you were doing, so much about how it felt. If it felt right, odds on it was the best thing to do in that situation. I felt Grace relax slightly in my embrace, and I looked down.

"Now, as I was saying, today is my payday and I need the money this week more than usual."

Grace muttered something, and I loosened my hold. "Gracie, I need that money to take you out to dinner." I glanced down and judged her reaction. Her expression still denoted annoyance, but at least she wasn't trying to make a break for it anymore.

"A nice, moonlit, quiet dinner at one of the best places in town," I stroked her check and smiled hopefully. "Now do I have someone to go with me or don't I?" Slowly the annoyance faded and she nodded. I kissed her and smiled, "Thanks."

I lit up another cigarette and, taking care not to slip on the ice patches on the pavement, crossed the street. You're probably thinking that my relationship with Gracie is a bit off for a person like me. Not invalid concerns to be fair, but do you really think that just because I steal shit for a living, I can't feel the same stuff that everyone else feels?

Fuck you and learn the ways of the world are my answers. I'm twenty-four years old, and I've just found that a girl that I like is a bit more receptive to me than I first thought. It's typical really, the bad guy has good stuff going for him and the people who cling to the old traditions of honour and regulation like it's their path to salvation don't like it. Why?

Because they realise unconsciously that they've been living their whole life, constantly taking the high road when they could have made it easier for themselves. Do you really think I'm about to change a habit of a lifetime just because it's written in some rulebook somewhere? As if.

I turned right into a wide alleyway, shivering to some extent from the cold. At the end of that alleyway is the place that I've worked five days a week, every week for the last five years. Run by Boss, an old guy who would have been about the same age as my dad, if my dad hadn't died from liver failure when I was twenty.

**Stop Song:** **Half the World Away by Oasis**

I never bothered to find out what Bosses first name was, but I was pretty sure his surname was Benson. Apart from me, Gerry, Karl and Sid form what's left of the workforce; glamorous no, profitable yes.

Today was big for us, bigger than usual. Boss was selling a two seated convertible Mustang for almost a ten grand profit. In business terms that meant a fat bonus for me and the guys for making off with the car while the owner wasn't looking. A grand each for finder's fee and Boss would keep the remaining six.

On top of the two hundred we got as standard every two days, I would be taking Grace out for more than one expensive dinner. All thanks to Boss of course, no-one else could make deals work better than him. He could snap his fingers over water and fish would just jump into his lap to be sold.

We waited in the shops main floor, Mustang sitting behind us in all its American glory. The restoration had been simple; the presentation was immaculate and precisely planed in every way. Boss finally came out of his office with the buyer and made his way down the stairs, "There, as promised, now the payment?"

We watched the money change hands in tense silence. We stayed as still as statues until the buyer was in his car and half way out of the shop, then Karl hit the button to close the automatic doors. Once the car was out of sight, I couldn't contain my mirth any longer, and it burst out of me as a whoop of joy.

The drinks flowed like water that night in the club, me and the lads went out to celebrate the sale and our newfound wealth. Eventually I removed myself from the proceedings and out into the cold night air. Breathing out a sigh of contentment, I lit up another cigarette from a fresh packet, one of three I'd bought from the corner shop. Life was good.

Unsteadily I climbed into my car, a 1970 Buick GSX. Another of the perks of being in the car stealing business, you can pick and choose which ones you want. I slotted the key into the ignition and pulled away from the curb.

I guess what happened next was fate, or some fucker up there showing a sense of humour. Can't say I was very amused by the joke if it was the later. A Peterbilt Model 384 truck smashing into the side of your car isn't the best gag in the book. I knew it was bad, there was no denying that. My legs were crushed judging from the deluge of pain being picked up by my receptors.

Two things flashed through my mind before my mind shut down. "That fucker totalled my car," was defiantly one of them if I wasn't mistaken. The last one was the Ohh so generic, "Shit, I had a date."

A/N: Well that's that folks, chapter one up for the reading. Hope you enjoy it, and if you don't? Well too bad. I had to pull Darren away from his holidays for this, so I hope you inconsiderate assholes who flamed my request are happy. Now you're in for some of the best chaos known to man, Killfest and Sadist working together on the same story.


	2. Information

Chapter 2: Information,

Location: Unknown,

Date: Unknown.

It was dark, to the point of absurdity. I tried to wave my hand in front of my eyes, but then realised that I couldn't feel them. Nor could I feel my legs, or any other part of my body for that matter. My next instinct was to scream, but to my increasing horror I realised I had no mouth to complete that basic action.

Struggling also proved ineffective, but that would mean...Jesus Christ, I had no body. I was just a thought, drifting alone through the void. There was nothing save the blackness and my own consciousness, "Hello there!"

Or maybe not. Suddenly I was falling, through the darkness towards a sliver of light that glimmered in the distance. It was someway in distance I realised, at the same time that I grasped the fact that I was moving towards it at some speed. This might have actually felt good if I had a body to feel it with, I contemplated rather bitterly.

"Ohh, you don't have one? Easily remedied my good chum!" That voice again, how the hell do you even hear something with no ears? "A very philosophical question my dear Brian, I haven't the foggiest idea!" The voice started laughing, which is very unpleasant when it's literally bypassing your lack of ears and goes straight to booming around inside your cranium. That is if I had a cranium.

"Ok then, that's that fixed!" I was suddenly aware of the presence of something very body like surrounding myself. I flexed my fingers and was pleasantly surprised when my brain picked up their movement. "All right, that's more like it!"

"I'm so glad your satisfied," my unseen conversation partner put in, "Now I must beg you to slow down!"

"Wait, what?" I slammed into the stone floor at a speed only slightly below the terminal velocity of a falling man. It hurt would have been an understatement. I felt bones snap and blood spurt across the surface of my landing zone. I didn't have time to writhe in agony however, which wouldn't have been an option anyway considering my bones had been turned to so much shards and powder on impact.

My body immediately repaired itself, broken bones fitting themselves back together like a jigsaw puzzle, and blood filling my veins to replace what was lost. Raucous laughter popped into my area of perception as soon as my ears and head were repaired enough to be serviceable. "Hahahaha, what fun! You must watch my replay; your "faceplant" was extraordinary!"

I got up and groaned, hand flying up to my nose, which at that time was grating cartilage and bone, relocating to its usually position in the middle of my face. "What the fuck? Why the hell are you...?"

I looked around, fist clenched in anger and confusion. It was just me, on a stone floor that stretched out in all directions, "Where are you?"

"I'm right here!" A voice cried from directly behind me. I jumped with a strangled scream and turned to face a portly gentleman dressed in weird clothes; medieval raiment, all fine linen, tights and feathers.

My hand went to my pocket immediately, reaching for the brass knuckles I carried in my leather jacket. There was no leather jacket; in fact there were no clothes. "Fuck," I snarled in shock, hunching up and covering the more private areas, "Where the hell are my clothes!"

The fat man laughed some more, patting is extended stomach in mirth. "Ohh you're perfect, your reactions are so funny!" He snapped his fingers and a large glass of expensive alcohol appeared in his hand. It had a pink umbrella in it, as well as a varied assortment of fruit slices.

"Yo! Do that snappy finger thing and get me my motherfucking clothes you dickhead!" He glanced up from his drink, which he was drinking with single minded determination. "Such language, I think maybe you should "chill out"!"

I cried out again as what felt almost half a gallon of cold water poured itself over my head. Spluttering, shivering and freezing, I emerged from the deluge and did the only thing that came naturally in a situation like that. I lashed out.

The portly man was laughing so hard his drink was teetering dangerously on the point of spillage. With all the might I could muster in my five foot eleven frame, I threw the first punch.

It was an underhand left that went straight into the soft fleshy sweet spot just below the ribs. He gasped as the wind was knocked out of him, the alcoholic drink sailing from his hand. I pushed him next, clearing enough room to deliver straight right that broke his nose.

My next attack would have fractured his jaw, if not popping it straight from the seating. Instead, the fat man vanished, and I sprawled in a heap on the floor. "There was no need for that," a pained, all too familiar voice mumbled from behind me. I sprang to me feet, hoping to beat the crap out of the fat man.

He stood there, nursing his broken nose and abdomen. "I was only trying to have a laugh!"

"Clothes, now!" I shouted at him, close to flipping my handle and trying to throttle the fat fuck. He winced and snapped his fingers again. I was suddenly clothed in the exact same garments that the fat man himself was wearing.

"MY ACTUAL CLOTHES YOU DEMENTED FREAK!" He shrugged and with a slight smile snapped his fingers again. Now this was more like it, brown leather jacket, white T-Shirt and blue jeans. I glanced down and adjusted my feet in the signature steel toe work boots.

"That's more like it," I growled, checking my pockets. My Zippo, cigarettes and knuckles were all there, along with my wallet, gloves and flat cap, "Now that we're actually getting somewhere, who the hell are you and why the fuck am I here?"

Fatman snapped his fingers again, repairing his damaged nose and soothing his tender midsection. "Well," he grumbled wretchedly, "It's my brother you see. He's a minor deity to one of the lesser quasi dimensions."

I immediately held up a hand, "English please, otherwise I'm out of here." Fatman smiled nervously, "I'm afraid that's quite impossible, your dead you see."

I ran a hand through my hair in frustration, "Yeah? Well fucking done mate, I know I'm dead. I'd be rather surprised if I wasn't. A two-ton truck going at fifty miles an hour doesn't mess around."

My companion nodded thoughtfully, "I did think you were taking it rather well."

"Punching you in the face and swearing every few seconds," I retorted, "Yeah, I'm mental patient of the month."

"My brother has gotten himself into a rather bad situation you see," the Fatman continued, "Ever since he had a run-in with the Warband he started acting strangely, and that's saying something for him. His placement rather demands insanity."

"What is he, the court clown? I thought that position was reserved for you." I didn't bother asking who the Warband were, or even who his brother was. To be honest I couldn't give a flying fuck one way or the other. As always though, my inner opportunist reared his ugly head. With the right nudges I might be able to guide this conversation in the right direction, a direction that would benefit me.

"So, what are you telling me for? If I'm not very much mistaken, you should be sending me down-under, and I don't mean Australia."

The Fatman looked blank, and I groaned dramatically, "You know...fire, brimstone, the river Sticks, eternal suffering and damnation. Hell? Any of this ringin' a bell?"

His expression cleared in milliseconds, "We'll yes, that is standard procedure for someone of your," he gestured vaguely in search of an appropriate word, "temperament; But..."

"But you want someone to help you bail out you brother, am I right?" The Fatman nodded gravely, "I'd forgotten how perceptive you mortals can be in the right circumstances. That is indeed what I request of you."

For the past few minutes my nicotine craving had been going wild, and I hadn't noticed. As I pulled out my Zippo and one of the two cigarette packets I considered my options from every angle. "And if I was to refuse or accept this request, what would be the outcome of both those paths, hypothetically of course?"

"If you were to refuse, then I would immediately take you "down-under", as you so eloquently put it, and leave you there to serve a sentence proportional to your crimes." I swiftly held up a hand, rakish grin plastered on my face, "Sentence ehh? Exactly how long are we talking here?"

Fatman returned the smile and laughed heartily, "I Hell there is only one sentence; Eternal. If you wish a shorter sentence you should have aimed for Purgatory."

I nodded in satisfaction, "I like to see my activities didn't go completely unnoticed. I was beginning to think everyone was just plain incompetent." The now lit cigarette was now firmly clamped between my lips, and I motioned politely for him to continue.

"If you were to accept my offer," the Fatman said, giving me a very reserved look, "then I would be inclined, with my brother's help of course, to bend the rules in regards to your sentence. That is only if you accept however, and bring my brother back...intact."

I took a deep drag of my cigarette, considering the proposal. It didn't exactly help his case that not fifteen minutes ago he had dumped freezing water all over me. Then again he was a God...probably. And deities were not known for their manners. He was very gracious now though, I had to admit.

"Why are you trying to send me? Don't get me wrong, I'm a good fighter with or without knuckledusters, and I've been told I'm a charmer when I want to be, but this sort of thing is best left to...I don't know Heroes, Champions, Conquerors etcetera, etcetera."

The Fatman shook his head grimly and snapped his fingers again. Two chairs appeared, and he motioned for me to sit, which I did. "It is far from that simple. The land that I propose to send you in search of my brother is a convoluted and dangerous realm. It does not obey the normal rules of power, the normal rules of cause and effect. Over the millennium, when the inner Council of God's found a suitable group of Champions, they would send at least one to that Realm."

He went silent, and I raised an eyebrow. "That bad huh? What happened to them, they disapprove of the entertainment facilities?"

"No, they either died or went quite mad. That is one of the reasons my brother was sent there in the first place. He is a God of Madness you see; the workload there became too much for that Realm's deities to handle, and the Council sent Sheogorath to deal with the overflow."

Fatman lent forwards and hunched up, "Bad move. Sheogorath isn't a bad person you understand, but he's newer to this whole God business that me. He hasn't yet learnt to control the tendencies that his position forces upon him."

"Tendencies?" I asked past my smoke. Fatman nodded, "Indeed, you see I am a God of Mockery. I'm sure you can guess what my "tendencies" are after your unusual welcome. Sheogorath cannot control his urges, which as chaotic as they are, leads to some very awkward situations."

"I can imagine, so what's the play? If this place is as bad as you make it sound, how am I gonna succeed where everyone else has fucked up?"

"It's simple really; all the Champions we have sent were honourable, steadfast warriors, noble to a fault, strong enough to shape the world as they saw fit. You on the other hand...you are a criminal. You're a liar, a cheat and if I'm any judge," he stroked his belly where I'd pummelled him, "A down and dirty fighter."

"You think a different approach will help?"

"I think the thought should be entertained, and given a chance at success. Now what do you say Brain Sullivan of Detroit Michigan? Will you undertake this most noble of quests for me, Momus, Greek god of Mockery?"

Looking from him to the stone floor around me, I shrugged, "Sure, I'm dead anyway right? Might as well hedge my bets and play my cards one last time." I got up from my seat and waved around me, "So how does this work, you gonna fly me there on a huge horse?"

Momus smiled, "No, I'll "drop" you off there right away." I could hear the quotation marks straight away, and had the foresight to step calmly to the side. Good thing too, as the floor immediately dropped out from where I had been standing. I snorted and took a quick look towards Momus, "Does that ever work?"

"More than you might think actually," He muttered wistfully, "I might have to revise my methods." He snapped his fingers and a section of the black fog from which I had fallen through faded away, "I'll send supplies and a few trinkets after you, to assist your labours."

I was sucked back up into the darkness, quickly losing all sense of direction and time.

**Start Song: Nightmare by Avenged Sevenfold**

**A/N: Well folks, Sullivan is on his way to ****Alagaësia at last, and on a mission for a God no less. I'd like to take my time to answer some of the reviews and comments from both this and my original Request of the Century upload and the first chapter. The first comment is from Apple Jaxx on Request of the Century and the first chapter of the story. Yes, there are a few grammatical errors on the first chapter. That is because Sullivan is telling this story, and that means that three quarters of this story is dialogue from him and the other quarter is dialogue from other characters. When dealing with dialogue, it is important to realize that the normal rules of grammar are waved because a characters personality might not include them being well-spoken. P.S mate: I'd like to know how you spotted them though, what the hell did you do? Run it through a word processor? You did offer support on Request of the Century though so I love you man, no homo. **

**The next is in response to ****Squirrel0304 and JakMartheDarkWarrior, my two unwavering fans. You guys are great, really! I knew that I would probably get a negative response to my request, and you guys are really supportive of the story and the character. Every time I see one of your comments, flowers pop out of my ass, I shit you not . And don't think I forgot you My Generation, your comment is appreciated too, and I thank you to the fullest extent of my shrivelled black heart. (Jk) **

**Next is for The-Lonely-Child. Hells yes write a lesbian insert! If you do I'll link it on every one of my internet pages. I cannot think of anything that would take these guys and gals out of the freezer better than two chicks going at it. In fact, you commented on Request of the Century. Ohh dear, that means you might not be checking this story at all. Ohh my, I better message you directly. Be back in a second.**

**Ok, that's good then. This one is for you babe, power to you! **

**Stop Song: Nightmare, Start Song: Teenage Dirtbag by Wheatus.**

**Anyway, back to the reviews. My two haters are still hot on the trail. Dracones and Elemental Dragon Slayer, I salute you too mates. You're persistent and you stick to your guns. Good training for later life that, never lose your spunk. I have to point out Dracones comment on the first chapter though. Yes, insert through car crash is a cliché. I had planned an elaborate death involving two parakeets and a canary, but that wouldn't exactly have been realistic would it? **

**Never mind, today nothing can take me down. I'm on fire baby!**

**Hope you all have a good craic, **

**TheSadist and Killfest wish you a very enjoyable day. **


	3. Deliberation

Chapter 3: Deliberation,

Location: Alagaësia,

Date: Unknown.

Its funny how things work out really; no sooner had he told me the bare minimum of facts regarding my mission, he dumped me into the shit. I woke up under the beating sun, confused, alone and above all, pissed off. I shouldn't be surprised regarding the turn of events, I should have known that payback would be coming for me like the bitch it is. That's okay though I guess; you were always prepared for stuff like that, since actions like the ones I performed constantly would eventually garner adversaries. The difference between me and your average criminal was adeptness at dealing with the consequences.

Or at least that's what I thought when I propped myself up on my elbow and looked around. Sad thing is the second thing I thought was, "Looks like the pictures you see of Afghanistan on the TV."

There was sand, sand, and Ohh what a surprise, more blimmin sand; not my kind of climate really. Curse of the gingers, we blister in the sun easily. Well, objective was marginally clear, just not what I had to do to accomplish it. Now would be a good time to take inventory. The nutjob said he would send some shit after me to help out. I cast around and finally spotted a rucksack, half submerged in the sand. It wasn't the only thing in the sand however, it was clear that the bow and sword had been too large to fit into the bag.

With some effort I scooped away the sand and pulled it onto my lap. Excess grains of the abundant crushed rock trickled down my leg as I unhooked the rucksack and let it fall open. I carefully removed each item and set them out before me. Your resources are your most important asset, bar sharp mental faculties, and if you treat them well, odds on they'll save your hide in the near future.

I finished laying them out and lent back, staring at them. A dog eared copy of a book by some guy called Parlini, or some such, I'd never heard of him before, but judging from the dragon on the front it was probably a kid's book.

A lunchbox filled with different assorted foods. That got an odd look, I didn't realise this creep was the maternal type. He could have given me something to eat that was more...dignified. However I wasn't gonna complain, food was food.

A canteen with a noticeable dent in the side; it wasn't leaking though. Water sloshed audibly inside, and to my relief I realised there was also a tiny flask of something very alcoholic. Grinning slightly I flashed a thumbs up to the heavens in thanks. Momus knows me better than I thought.

A brown cloak was the only item in the clothing category, not really a problem. I'd steal some once I got to something resembling civilization. Speaking of civilization...I was in the middle of a desert, where the fuck was civilization? I shrugged, and took a long look at the last few tools I had before me.

A Longbow, quite big; I knew something about the basic principle of bow-making. I had a friend who was big into that kind of thing, even had me "acquire" certain historical items for him at one time. A big bow meant a lot of force behind the arrow, but the bigger it was the more force was required to pull back the string. I tried drawing back the string and was not surprised in the least when the string cut into my fingers and my muscles screamed in protest.

I'm no scrawny little kid, but this thing was a fucking one-fifty pounder, only slightly less than the draw weight of a Welsh Longbow. In generic terms, drawing this bad-boy required the effort of lifting a man one-handed. That weight was distributed between your back and arm muscles, and I knew from long conversations with enthusiasts that drawing back a heavy poundage bow over and over again did lasting damage to your muscles.

It was seen from the bodies of Archers recovered off the wreck of the Mary-Rose, that by the time an Archer reached the age of thirty, their muscles would have been ripped from their bones. Still, with an effective range of 185 metres or there about, and the force to put an arrow through plate armour, it was worth the risk.

I turned my attention away from the gleaming yew bow and examined the arrows, which came in a linen bag. Another thing I learnt from my friend. The best English archers didn't carry their arrows in quivers, but in linen bags that carried a score of shafts. The bag had makeshift slots that separated out the arrows, protecting the fletching. It also made it easier to pull another one out without spilling your shit all over the ground.

They looked to be Broadhead arrows, which were basically four sharp blades that met in the middle to form a razor sharp point. Good for penetrating armour, and even better for causing lacerations that would kill a man long after he had pulled out the shaft. I'd have to work on my upper body strength before I would be able to use the bow to its fullest potential.

If I wasn't strong enough to achieve full-draw its usefulness was severely limited. That said I wasn't that far off from where I needed to be. Even though the old Archers trained from a very young age to use the deadly weapon, my upper body strength wasn't anything to sneer at. The last three items were more my style; well, two of them were. There were two knives, one of which was almost certainly made for skinning and preparing meat, the other looked more like it was intended for people.

Then the sword...I had nothing against swords to be honest, but the knife fit with my personality. You can't really conceal a sword when your stealing a car now can you? I'd take it anyway though, no harm in having something to trade.

The knives were to be strapped to my thigh, in easy reach, but also concealed if I ever felt the need to put the cloak on. The bow wouldn't be much use to me yet, for obvious reasons. I unstrung it and strapped the great yew stave onto my back anyway. It was far too large to put in the rucksack anyway, so I'd have to wedge it between my back and the rucksack.

The sword joined the stave on my back, and with some amount of care I packed away the other stuff as well. It wouldn't do for me to fuck up in this situation, I had to find out which way was out of this bloody desert. I looked around thoughtfully contemplating my next move. If I wasn't careful, which I always was, I could end up wandering further into this desert and dying. Not that high on my to-do list honestly.

I had to get somewhere with people, then find somewhere with priests. To find a God of Madness you have to find the nutters who worship the bastard. Though Momus did say Sheogorath wasn't from this dimension whatzit, maybe no-one worshiped him here. Never the less, a Priest or Monk were the sort of people he would be looking for; a church maybe?

I shook my head irately, admonishing myself for going ahead a bit too far. First, get out of the desert. If only I had access to a map of some sort, some point of reference to work from. There was a large hill in the distance, possibly a small mountain. That would work as a landmark if I could find another noticeable feature on the landscape, and more importantly a map.

Inspiration and memory proved my greatest asset in this regard. Pulling out the book, I flipped the first two or three pages and found a map. It wasn't detailed, but it showed hills, mountains, forests and even cities, all neatly labelled. Judging from the map, and my improvised landmark, I was at the edge of the "Hadarac" Desert. On the map there was a town or village marked that was probably the closest thing for miles, Bullridge.

It looked like there was a river between me and it though, the Ramr. Bloody awkward position to be in I thought glumly. Well, there really was no point standing here and letting the sun bake me dry, I had to move, the faster the better. No telling what might swoop down at me in this shithole; if the picture on the front of the book was anything to go by, open ground was a no-no.

I started off into the horizon at a jog, as the sun set over the beginnings of my new nightmare.

**Three days later**

I collapsed down in front of the Ramr River and splashed water on my face, wincing as the red skin smarted. One day in and my skin had started to shed off my exposed face like a potato being peeled. The fourth most uncomfortable thing I had ever felt in my life. And I still maintained one mile every ten minutes, I thought with a hint of pride.

Rolling onto my back, I took a brief respite, refilled the canteen, and then looked for a crossing. The water flew past at high speed, telling me in no uncertain terms, "You step foot in me motherfucker, your body will wash up onshore ten miles down."

While I thought, I picked up a rock and started using it as an improvised weight. It was a habit I was training myself to follow with the strictness of a military regime. Having a weapon like the Longbow and not being able to use it was eating at me like a dog on three month old meat. I had to keep myself on top form if I expected to get out of this with enough blood left in my veins to enjoy the fruits of my labour. Namely a one way trip back to Detroit.

The map offered me no clues to the location of a crossing, but I had started reading it regularly in the hopes of understanding more about the land I found myself in. The storyline was okay, the characters bar a few notable exceptions were good to follow, but the logic of some of these people just didn't make sense. Pussy footing around Mr. Rimjob the crazy Homicidal King was bullshit to start with.

Maybe I should butt in and show these people how a real bastard handles situations like this? Nahh, I thought to myself as I scanned the far bank of the river attentively, that wasn't the objective. Getting myself mixed up in this shitstorm would get me killed way before I had a chance to finish what I came for. It would get sorted out eventually, and even if the King fucks them over, what the hell do I care?

Not my world, not my problem. I stood up, mind made up. I'd head further down the river in search of a crossing, then head back up to Bullridge and ask for directions. As I walked the sun came out from behind a cloud bank, and I glared at it crossly. Fucking weather, where was the smog, the fog, the rain? Just my luck to turn up in the middle of the summer; bastard god.

The river curved further down, near a bunch of hills that jutted from the landscape like the sand dunes in the desert. I finally found what I was looking for, a small waterfall. Driftwood and debris had built up over the years, and there was a near solid dam that bridged the river. Without hesitation I started the crossing, carefully placing one foot on the sections I thought were supported by rocks underneath.

I was half way when the whole structure started to shake, and I was pitched off down the waterfall. As was now customary in near death situations, my mind supplied the traditional admonishment, "Always careful huh? Fucking idiot."

**Start Song: Mountains from Water by Two Steps from Hell.**

With a scream I plunged into the water, and was swept downstream in the torrent. I was rolled over and over in the waters embrace, striking my shoulders and left leg on rocks. On reflex I tried to swim upwards, and failed miserably as I was flipped in a full 360 by the water.

I tried again, and this time I broke the surface in a cascade of water and refracted light. Gulping I a huge lungful of air, I swam to the riverbank, and collapsed in the dirt. Water dribbled off me, drying in the sun as I gathered my strength. I was alive, amazingly, with only a few bruises to remind me of the fuckup.

Slowly, I got up and looked around. Thankfully, I was on the right side of the river now. Apprehension sparked up in the back of my mind, and I checked my pockets. My cigarettes were soaked through, and the book was probably drenched as well. Fuck it I thought suddenly, they would dry out eventually.

Cigarettes were cool that way; the tar content would hold the damn thing together long enough for the shit to dry out, and then I'd be back to destroying my life expectancy. Fuck that as well my mind added, from the way you're going life expectancy is rotting in the trash.

Mentally, I flashed a very rude gesture at my offending subconscious. I set off again, away from the river and upstream, heading towards my goal.

_A/N: Bloody hell I love how this is going. Okay, next chapter Sullivan has his first interaction with the Alagaësians, and from my point of view, sparks are sure to fly. Time to answer the questions! _

_From Tricky and JakMar: Is Sheogorath the same one from The Elder Scrolls?_

_Indeed he is, I am at the moment on my first play through of Skyrim and am enjoying it exceedingly. Sheogorath is one of my few favourite characters and given his personality, I thought him perfect to balance out Sullivan's sarcasm and blunt humour. Most of the gods I'll be inserting are Greek, with a smattering of Roman. To a lesser extent I put Sheogorath in because in one of my other stories Mass Murder: A Tale of Confusion (still in the works people, but stay tuned) he has a run-in with the Warband, a bunch of self-inserts from the Redentor Publications team._

_Next from Squirrel0304: (If you guys keep following me I'll have to invite you into Redentor Publications for a Skype call )_

_What side will Sullivan be taking, Empire or Varden?_

_Well that is a very good question, and the answer is whichever side benefits him the most. If one side offers him Sheogorath on a golden platter, he'll take that side regardless of their affiliation. That's the way his mind works right now. It's all about completing the objective._

_Next Elemental Dagon Slayer: I just saw this, and god damn, thanks man . Nice to see the masses are coming around. *Peace and love directed in your general direction*._

_Last from everyone: I'll be updating as much as I can, probably every two to three days. Be aware though that Redentor Publications is writing a lot of shit right now, for Fallout, Left 4 Dead, Mass Effect and Skyrim. We're bogged down with two of our guys on holidays and only me to deal with the writing at the moment. That being said I have way too much time on my hands. _

_Have the good craic,_

_TheSadist. _

**End Song:** **Mountains from Water, Start Song: If I Had by Eminem. **


	4. Conversation

**Chapter 4: Conversation,**

**Location: Outskirts of Bullridge,**

**Date: Unknown.**

I'd camped put that morning in a forested area, in a small gulley that hid me from any unwelcome observers. Thankfully in the middle of summer, it didn't seem to rain much in this land. I sat close to the fire, smoking a now dry cigarette, and reading the book that had with the aid of the fire, dried out as well. It was fascinating reading, and from me that's saying something. The only books I'd ever found captivating enough to read were mechanical engineering and the odd detective novel.

This however held special meaning for me, as I would, or could be a potential participant in the events described. Not all of the events were to my liking however; the battle described in Farthen Dur sounded like a real bitch. For the umpteenth time my small share of good personality tried to convince my other half to intervene, and was trampled generously by my inner Gestapo. I cut off a branch from a nearby tree with the hunting knife and used it to stoke the fire.

Not in a million years would I risk my life for a bunch of Rebellious idiots who...well that was the problem right? They were outclassed on so many sides. Galbatorix was sure to have agents working for him, people who could do what was needed, when it was needed. The Varden on the other hand, they had a bunch of revolutionaries with nearly no formal training in espionage.

I on the other hand was used to hiding myself from the authorities, used to being a cold hearted asshole. A rare gift in a land of heroes and dragons it seemed. How the Varden had managed this long I didn't know. My theory however was put to the test outside Bullridge, as well as my claim to ability.

Soldiers, a shit load of soldiers with large weapons and irritated expressions. They had already spotted me by the time I saw them, so there was no point trying to hide now. I just kept on walking, trusting to my basic instincts and experiences with guards. All I could hope was that none of the guards were trained...mind...reading...people? What the hell are those called anyway, there didn't seem to be a specific word or term.

Caught up with my musings, I didn't notice that one of the soldiers had advanced out to meet me halfway, "You, stop where you are and show your travel documents." I dragged myself back into real-time, giving the guard a look that would burn bacon on a block of ice.

It's not that I don't like new people, but sometimes, as it was now, they just pissed me off. "Travel documents?" I asked, "Yeah right mate. Pull the other one; it's got bells on it."

He seemed completely taken aback, and I shouldered past him, noticing in the process that he was a blimmin shrimp, five seven at the very most. How they let a nooblet like him in the army I didn't have a clue.

The surprise didn't last for long, "Hey, stop right there!" I stopped, and looked up to find a group of soldiers had detached themselves from the main cordon around the perimeter of the village. Most of them were men, but one was..."Well hello there Ma'am, what brings you outside on this dreary day?"

A woman was, judging from the way she stood, dressed and the way the men gave her a wide berth, she was some type of mage. Black robes and boots, with a hood that concealed the top half of her face. Despite the obvious attempts to give the impression of being intimidating, the cotton robes were form fitting and the skin that I could see was just the right shade of cream.

"Stow it, what are you doing here without travel papers?" I groaned theatrically, "No, no, no, no! That wasn't what you were supposed to ask at all!"

"And what was I supposed to ask?" Her eyes narrowed dangerously, as I smiled winningly. "You were supposed to ask why you shouldn't be outside on a day like this." She glanced upwards, taking in the shining sun and the clear skies. "I don't think I want to ask that question," she replied with a slight amount of venom in her voice.

One of the guards snickered behind her, and both she and I gave him a poisonous gaze. He quailed and shrank back, followed by our killer stares. "At least I'm putting myself out there you fucking midget." Then a certain prominent aspect of the environment twigged in my mind. "Wait one fucking second..."

I examined all the soldiers around me sizing them up quite literally. "Why are you all so short?" The soldiers looked at themselves, and then up at me again. "Why are you so tall?" The most enterprising of the five asked.

"Hey, I'm five eleven, that's pretty average where I come from." The woman had clearly had enough, and she motioned for the two strongest guards to step forwards. "Take him to the town hall, and you three go with them. I'll be there shortly."

They grabbed me by the arms and stripped me of my weapons. The strongest two dragged me towards the largest of the town's buildings as instructed. I struggled and even managed to clip one of the guards with my shoulder. "Fucking hell dudes, not cool!"

They ignored my objections and nodded at the three guards that brought up the rear. One of them shot forwards and tripped me, taking my legs out so the two guards were supporting my whole weight, and I couldn't get onto my feet to resist.

Jesus Christ these guys were buff, I wasn't a light guy and they were dragging me around like it was nothing. As I tossed through the door and onto the wooden rough straw coving the floor, I felt something digging into the small of my back; the hunting knife!

Fucking gobshites, they hadn't checked my waistband. I'd stuck it in there after cutting my improvised poker off the tree. I was armed, cornered and slightly annoyed. The book never said anything about travel papers. Ohh shit...the book. It was in my backpack, which they had taken along with my weapons.

If they got a look at that, they'd skin me alive to find out how I had come into possession of it. My only hope lay in the differences between this world and mine. Odds on they wouldn't even be able to read the book, let alone convict me on that base. All I had to do was bluff my way out, like I had so many times before.

Though there was another option. They had left only one guard in here with me; exceptionally muscled in the upper body and only three or four inches below me in height. Trust Momus to drop me slap bang in the middle of Hobbiton. Now all I need is Wee Mad Angus to complete the circle. Or maybe the Smirffs I mused silently.

The wooden door opened, and three people, including my recent sex interest entered. I realised my lack of knowledge regarding her at the same time I realised that the other two were also women. "My lucky day; so what's the deal here, interrogation or a foursome? We could do a little of both you know, I'm flexible like that," I winked at the closest, "And in other ways."

The mage from the guard-post gave me the death stare, but the effect was ruined somewhat by the youngest of the three throwing a wink from behind her back. I grinned credibly and turned to the young male guard, "You do know we're in a secure room with three wonderful and partly willing women? Come on man, let yourself go."

He blushed bright scarlet and shrank back into the woodwork before the lead mage could turn her gaze on him. "Suit yourself," I muttered. "Be quiet prisoner or I'll instruct my companions to use any force necessary to silence you."

"Sounds kinky," I reposted, "I'm game if you are."

"SILENCE NOW," she screamed at me, and I winced as my ears rang. She smiled, satisfied that I wasn't about to make any more off colour jokes, bloody spoil sport. "I am going to ask you a series of questions, and if you do not answer them truthfully I will enter your mind and take the answers by force. Who are you?"

"My names pogo," I scoffed in a half hearted attempt at wit, "why don't you jump on my stick?" I doubted they would even know what a pogo stick was, but they sure as hell caught the meaning well enough. "Illisetha, will you please fetch the branding irons and place them on the hearth?"

"Whoa there lady," I said quickly, and my I say not in the least bit terrified, "there's no need for the burning!" She smiled in an imitation of my winning grin, but the expression used to great effect by me rang false on her pretty features. "Then tell me "traveller", who are you and where do you hail from?"

"The names Sullivan, Brian Sullivan; I come from...Detroit Michigan." The ladies stared blankly, and I shrugged, "Well I didn't expect you to have heard of it. Whole other land and all, but just to make points clear, I had no idea about travel papers or any of that good stuff."

They looked at one another, and finally the leader nodded. "Illisetha, I think we'll need those branding irons now." The woman further back (not the one who winked) nodded and left the building. "So you didn't buy my explanation I take it?"

"No, and quite frankly I wonder how bad of a liar you are if you truly assumed I would believe you. Do you take me for a fool? The story was a wonderful work of fiction though, a credit to you." I smiled my winning smile, this time reaching for the hunting knife, disguising the motion as the clasping of my hands behind my back. If I could get it just right I might have a chance. Mages they were, but if I could stop them from finishing the incantations described in the book, I might just manage to get out alive.

"You do seem to be taking your impending torture rather well, I must say."

"Ohh I won't be around long enough for you to do anything serious." With only three of them left my odds of survival had nearly doubled. Sexy was closest, I'd have to knock her out before I did in the other mage. My only concern really was the guard, he would prove a problem considering he had a weapon with more weight behind it and more reach.

"You'll stay; I have very little doubt of that." With a few muttered words and a flick of her hand, I was blown off my feet and onto the floor. My arms were pinned to the ground by some strange force, pressing them into the straw that covered the dirt. Clearly wood was too useful to be wasted on something like floorboards. Funny what your mind strays to when you're close to a painful and almost unavoidable death.

"Not almost unavoidable Sullivan, unavoidable. You shall die eventually, after I have extracted the information I want." She stepped up and pulled the knife from my nerveless fingers. "So...you did tell the truth. A strange land you come from indeed, though I desire now to learn how you go here, and not where you came from. That knowledge seems o be hidden however; a skilled defence."

My mind was in turmoil. A fucking stupid thing not to remember, that people in this world could read minds. Worst still she said so minutes ago. How could I be so fucking senseless? What the hell did she mean skilled defence? I wasn't blocking my thoughts...bugger.

"You don't even realise do you?" She sneered as she motioned for the guard to step forward, "You do not realise that sections of your mind are walled with the strongest barriers I have ever had the displeasure of seeing. No matter, I have never failed to retrieve information of interest to the Empire, and I do not intend to start now."

With exaggerated slowness she knelt next to me, followed by the other mage on my left. Sexy reached out and placed a cool palm on my now feverish forehead, and instantly I felt her probe delve deep into my mind. I gritted my teeth and tried to block everything from my mind, focusing on something, anything that would take my mind of the pain. This wasn't just painful, it was excruciating.

It was like a female virgin getting penetrated for the first time, their never quite ready down below. I laughed internally; making sure my unwanted guest heard the thought. I, a twenty four year old man was getting penetrated by a woman. Momus wasn't joking when he said this world didn't follow the usual rules. "That's just disgusting," a voice chimed in from inside the confines of my brain, it was the bitch.

"Yeah, well you're going to kill me anyway aren't you? If that's the case you're gonna' have to put up with me, because I'm gonna make your life a living fucking hell you toxic cunt! You'll wish you never started this!" I felt her draw back from the force of my mental, ear-splitting shout. "Stop shouting, I'm not going to kill you, in fact I want to help you."

I mentally goggled at her, not quite believing my ears...or did you have ears in here? My god it was Momus madness all over again. "You want to help me? Well you took a strange way of going about it you dipshit!" The sigh from her end of the conversation was palpable, "That was a show for the rest of the black hand agents. If they knew that I was one of the Varden they'd string me up in a second."

"You're one of the Varden? Somehow I find that hard to believe." Out of the blue I was assaulted by her consciousness, forcing memories into my mind; her travelling to Teirm and finding a Varden agent, the journey to the Boar Mountains, her training in mage craft and mind breaking. Interrogation techniques featured prominently. I absorbed all the information and knew that she was finally telling me the truth. "About bloody time," I thought to myself.

"Okay then, if you're a Varden agent then get me the fuck outa' here."

"I cannot afford to be seen helping you. If they suspect that I am no longer a faithful servant to our Lord Galbatorix they will not hesitate to have me executed. My only option is to make it appear that you overpowered me and escaped, though personally I am doubtful that you will be able to survive my companions."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence," I snarled, getting exceedingly irritable with the entire situation, "first things first, where did your friends put my shit."

For a second I heard nothing, and then a tentative questioning emotion came across the link. The meaning was clear, even though I wasn't fluent in idiot. "Ohh Jesus Christ, you know, my shit, personal positions, treasured items, gear and weapons...MY SHIT!" Understanding finally dawned, "Yes I believe they took it to the building closest to ours. There are more guards I think, and you would do well to get past them in a way that does not draw attention to yourself."

If I had a head at this point I would have nodded in resignation...but I didn't. "And next time I enter your mind Sullivan, please keep your memories of my ass under lock and key."

"But it is such a nice ass," I commented, "I have to ask, are you available for dinner sometime? You know, a moonlit night with candles and Italian food if I can find it; you in or are you in?"

"Sullivan, make advances on me again and I will make sure the next time I'm in your head, I will reduce you to a gibbering lunatic."

"I'll take that as a maybe."

And with that I was back in the real world, with Sexy and the other woman kneeling over me. Sexy keeled over like she'd just fallen asleep, feigning unconsciousness. This was the agreed chance, and I took it without hesitation. I grabbed the woman by the head and pulled her in close enough for me to get my arms around her neck.

I summoned up all my strength and twisted sharply, snapped her neck. The guard was looking at me as I got up, clearly not believing his eyes. He was flapping more than flag in force ten, though still retaining enough sense to draw his weapon. By that time however, I was already charging him at full tilt.

I crashed into him at top speed, lift both of us off our feet and onto the floor. I wasted no time after that, wrestling the weapon out of his hands. He wouldn't have been able to use it effectively like this anyway. At that moment I was pressed closer to him than I had been to most of my sexual partners.

No room for finesse, not that my methods had much finesse involved. Keep it simple, and I did as I planted my knee into his balls. He tensed up in pain, trying to cover what he now realised was a very exposed and vulnerable area. That left the rest of his body unprotected, and as he cried out, my hand closed around his throat.

Contrary to popular belief, when a man doesn't want to be killed it's bloody hard to kill him. Prior experience with pre meditated homicide helps, along with good upper body strength. It isn't pretty in any sense of the word, seeing a man being choked to death, even less so when you're the one doing it.

It gets easier though; you can't ever be an effective fighter if you can't control your empathy and emotions. By the time you reach number three, it doesn't bother you in the least. Or maybe that's just a general rule. You even get a certain sense of satisfaction out of it. That's when you know you're a first-rate killer, when you look at the body of the man you just killed and feel pleased in off the fact that he died and not you.

I felt the man stop flailing after what felt like an eternity, and then got up and stepped on his throat for good measure. If he wasn't dead before, crushed larynx would finish him off. I cast around and made for the door, snatching up the guards sword on the way.

I slipped out of the door and out into the sunlight. Guards were on low alert so to speak, sitting around and playing the medieval version of poker. They weren't paying attention in the slightest. Why should they care about the man who'd been dragged into the longhouse? He was with the mages, and they could handle that little nobber couldn't they? He probably was just a stupid ass hunter who had wandered into the wrong village.

I smiled and walked towards the closest building with a swagger in my step. Most of them had never even seen my face, would never know who I was even if I walked right past them. I walked past several guards, keeping my face neutral and composed. In second I was at the entrance, and strolled in with a shit eating smile plastered on my face.

There were three men, two at the table in the middle of the room, drinking out of a large bottle and playing cards. The third was looking curiously at my stuff, his sword propped up against the table. "Hey mates, you mind if I join you?"

They looked up, took in my smile, my stance and my casual tone, and drew the completely wrong conclusion. The champions that the Gods had sent would probably have charged in, swords swinging and got shanked for their trouble. Not me; I knew soldiers in cushy postings like this would get careless. Same all the world around, after a few weeks on the job, following protocol and rules the security got a bit lax.

These poor buggers had been here far too long, kids play really. "Yeah sure, pull up a seat." The guard was amiable to a fault, and I sat down with my enemy, pretending to be there friend. "You guys need to lay off the drink, if the Black Hand catches you drunk who knows what they'll do."

It was a moderately safe thing to say in my opinion, just to get into a conversation and put them at ease. "Don't worry, there to busy with their latest prisoner. I swear, the way they drag them in I wouldn't be surprised if we actually found a spy." I grinned, "Yeah, wouldn't that be ironic."

I glanced over at the third man, who was looking through my stuff. "So that's the prisoner's stuff ehh? Doesn't look like much." I got up and walked over, glancing casually at my gear. It looked to be all there. "Are you supposed to be looking through that stuff," I asked unceremoniously. He looked up and sniggered derisively, "Who cares if I'm not? Are you going to say anything?"

I shook my head, "Nahh, too lazy. What's that?" It was a simple gambit, but what did he have to fear from me? There was nothing that he knew about, so he looked, and as soon as his attention was turned away from me I grabbed the knife from the table, "What..."

The knife slit his throat cleanly, spraying blood across that floor, and soon after the man's body joined the crimson liquid. The other two guards eyes went wide and they dove for their weapons, carelessly laid against the wall near the entrance. I reached for my bow and strung it with a grunt.

My arrows were invitingly spread out across a portion of the table, and I grabbed one. Aim and fire, simple enough; the first arrow went straight through his armour and into his stomach sending him to the ground. I strung the second and aimed, taking in the guard's expression turning from furious to dread. The second arrow found his heart.

I gathered my gear and picked up the forgotten bottle of booze. Very high alcohol content...not even Sid could down this shit. I was about to toss it away, when my evil mind came up with a better idea. A wide smile spread across my face, as I gazed at my lighter.

Two minutes later I was sprinting away from Bullridge, which was engulfed in flames. Another thing contrary to popular belief, Russians didn't invent the Molotov. It actually came from Finland.

**Start Song: Cut My Wings by Seasick Steve.**

**Not long now Elemental, Sullivan is on his way to the biggest bunch of religious nutters he knows of. That's right folks; Dras-Leona now has to deal with the dragon rider and Sullivan all at the same time. I'm taking bets on how long Helgrind stands before Sullivan and Sheogorath brings it crashing down. Also, I will soon be introducing some OC characters who are very near and dear to my heart. Who you ask? Well that's a surprise. Stay tuned! **


End file.
